Outside the transport wreckage, the air of the city's southeastern district carried a sickly sweet-iron sll: Tyranid spores mixed with the particular character of human blood in quantity.
Anderson had his arm locked under Duvette's ribs. The two of them moved through streets that had been reduced to open rubble fields, each step leaving a print in the dust that was not entirely dust.
Duvette forced his attention past the pain radiating from his shoulder and called up the Grand Strategic Display.
The semi-transparent projection settled across his vision and showed him the tactical picture in miniature.
They were near the southeastern edge of the city, where the building density was lower and most structures had already been reduced to standing fragnts by the ground fighting. Ahead on the map, at distance, green markers for the 112th and blue markers for the Ultramar auxiliaries were active and moving. The main force was not gone. They were fighting.
Between the two of them and those markers, the display showed red contacts filling the intervening streets in a density that left no obvious path through it. A swarming tide of hostile organisms, marking every approach route closed.
Anderson walked with his left arm under Duvette and his right hand carrying the power maul, his attention moving continuously across the shadowed corners of the streets around them.
The street was wrong in the way that empty streets in contested cities are always wrong. No intact bodies anywhere. Only shredded fabric and pulverised stone. In the deeper shadows of collapsed building sections, small shapes moved in clustered groups.
Rippers. Small-bodied organisms covered in nothing but efficient mouthparts, operating at the absolute bottom of the Tyranid food chain, working through the rubble and consuming every trace of organic material in their path. The sound they made moving through the debris had the quality of insects in dry undergrowth, multiplied.
"Faster." Duvette's voice ca out rougher than he intended. "Don't let those things surround us."
He understood what Rippers were capable of when their numbers reached a threshold. A fully ard Guardsman who went down among them in sufficient quantity had, in practical terms, no ti to respond. They were not individually dangerous. Collectively they were a consuming tide.
Anderson said nothing. He adjusted his pace, steering around the densest clusters, and kept moving.
"Stroud and Kleist should have co down safely sowhere." Duvette breathed the cold air and let the talking do the work his body's blood loss was trying to prevent his mind from doing. "We need to find them and link up. Without consolidated firepower we won't last."
Anderson turned his head briefly and looked at the pallor on Duvette's face.
"I'll get you out of here, Commissar."
Duvette allowed himself a small sound that was not quite a laugh. "The Emperor watches over us."
He reached down with his left hand and found the chainsword at his hip. He had recovered it from the wreckage during their exit from the crash site. At least that had survived. It gave him sothing for close quarters if it ca to that.
As they moved deeper into the southeastern district, the ambient threat increased with each block. Hormagaunts burst from second-floor openings in collapsed buildings, or erupted from sewer access points in the road surface. The skirmishes that followed were brief and frequent, and the two of them handled each one. But each engagent had a cost in energy that Duvette could no longer replace.
He was running on blood loss and the last reserves of what Limiter Break had given him, and both of those were not replenishing.
They reached a ruined building whose second floor was still partially accessible, one wall collapsed to provide a view down onto the street below. The sounds of sustained heavy fighting from elsewhere in the city carried clearly, continuous gunfire and detonations indicating that the engagent across the capital was at full intensity.
Duvette sat down on the cold rockcrete floor.
He breathed hard. Each breath ended in a cough, and each cough compounded the burning in his chest. During the last engagent, while he was covering Anderson's flank, a Termagant's fleshborers had found his lower leg before he had managed to eliminate the squad. He had treated it. The treatnt had done what it could. But the wound stacked on top of everything else had pushed him past the threshold where he could remain independently mobile.
Anderson positioned himself at the stairway entrance, watching all approaches, immovable.
Duvette pressed his left hand against the wall and tried to stand. The leg communicated its refusal with enough clarity that the attempt ended in a low grunt and him sitting back down harder than he had intended.
Anderson was beside him imdiately.
Duvette took a breath, looked at the Strategic Display for a mont, and stated the situation plainly.
"I can't walk. Across this street, three intersections ahead, there is a fixed Ultramar auxiliary defensive position." He held Anderson's eyes. "Go. The density of organisms between here and there isn't a problem for you in your current condition. Find the position, bring people back. I'll wait here."
Anderson did not ask how Duvette knew where a fixed defensive position was. He shook his head.
"The Ash Watchers don't leave their own behind." His voice was level and certain. "Especially not their Commissar."
"That is an order."
Anderson stood up in silence. "Just this one order, Commissar," he said, his voice unhurried and carrying no apology in it. "I'm refusing it. I will not leave a comrade who cannot move in the middle of a Tyranid swarm. Shoot afterward if it matters."
"You absoluteâ€"!" Duvette brought his fist down on the rockcrete floor with the hand he had available and ran out of words in the sa mont.
Anderson did not respond. He turned and left.
The footsteps returned quickly, heavier than they had departed.
Anderson reappeared with two lengths of rope he had sourced from sowhere in the building's wreckage. He crouched down, put his back to Duvette, and shook the rope out with the practical efficiency of a man who has already decided what he is doing.
"What exactly are you doing?" Duvette watched the motion with a frown. "You intend to carry out of this?"
Anderson worked the rope around his waist and shoulders without turning around.
"Making proper use of your own people is your responsibility too, Commissar." His voice was calm. "Since you cannot walk, I'll be your legs."
He turned his head and looked at Duvette directly.
"I will get you out of here. You said it yourself: the Emperor watches over us."
Duvette looked at him for a mont. Then let out a breath.
"All right. Since you insist." He t Anderson's eyes. "The Emperor does watch over us."
He glanced at Anderson's individual skill interface. Then he selected the second skill.
[Unyielding Iron Guard]
[The possessor will greatly draw the aggression of all nearby enemies, becoming the primary target of their attacks. Additionally, upon killing enemies, the possessor recovers proportional stamina and physical condition.]
[Cost: 400 Emperor's Wrath]
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